Outlaw Queen Shorts

Lust

Authors note:
Hey guys! Hope everyone's had a good summer. Any requests from anyone for things they'd like to see? If you do, let me know in the comments and I'll see what I can do :P
Thank you, as always, for still reading and voting! Enjoy some missing year xx

He longs for her. Longs to map the creamy surface of her olive skin with his hands, to twine his fingers into her hair and smell that maddening mix of apple and something distinctly Regina up close.

Every brush of her shoulder against his sends jolts of desire through him, as fiery and crackling as lightning; and what's worse is she doesn't seem to feel anything at all. Her stony mask lifts for no man. But Robin knows there is something warm beneath the thorns she surrounds herself with - a different type of heat to the fire she flings at her enemies. He senses it bubbling to the surface every now and then, but she stomps it thoroughly out with the heel of her boot in a huge rage when the people around her come too close.

I am The Evil Queen, she reminds. Fear me.

There are few she lets in, and even fewer who live to tell the tale. Through whisperings and court rumors he learns that all those she has loved - and who loved her in return - have perished. He somehow knows it's true. And more than that, it makes her no longer someone to fear, but someone to cherish; for who could suffer so much heartache and still stand tall?

He sees her fleeing the confines of the palace each night the moon is shrouded with an inescapable fog, hiding her from the prying eyes of those on patrol - but not him.

The first time he saw her galloping from the palace gates he nearly jumped on his own horse after her, but he saw the relaxed set of her shoulders, the way her hair whipped out of her braid and danced about her face in the wind. She looked so carefree - so happy - he couldn't bring himself to interfere. He'd waited all night frantic with worry that she wouldn't come back, that she'd stolen away like a thief in the night (and that was his trick, he couldn't very well sit back and allow her to do it better) never to be seen again.

Of course, she had returned, in the very early hours before the sun rose when her cover would have been blown.

When she leaves, he knows she'll be back. But that doesn't stop him from watching the gates like a lost puppy for her to return. There was one night when he thought she saw him, her gaze seeming to seek him out where he hid concealed behind a willow tree, but she never approached. Never brought it up or acted as if anything had changed and he soon pushed the idea away because if she had seen him, there's no doubt he would have been charred to a crisp.

The nights of no sleep don't seem to affect her; Robin can't say the same for himself. He forces his eyes back open with each heavy-lidded blink at breakfast, drawing concern from his men which he brushes off with a simple, "Patrol," but he knows that excuse will only work for so long.

"Thief," He snaps his neck up as she towers over where he sits with his plate of eggs and bacon, her plunging neckline accentuated with beads and glittering gems catching his eye for a second too long before he reaches her face. She sees. He knows she does, from the satisfied arch of her brow and the smirk quirking up her lip which reads, I win, before she says, "Follow me." to the shock of everyone in the hall.

She has a way of carrying herself that attracts the attention of a whole room, eyes discreetly following her as she makes her way from one end to the other and it has all eyes on him now too, watching as eagerly as if it were a wrestling match. It doesn't occur to him that the room has fallen silent until he hears the scrape of his chair against the stone floor as he gets up, their footsteps echoing on the flagstones as they make their way from the room. The wooden door slams shut behind them and he hears the eruption of voices from the other side - talking about him? Them? He doesn't know, but before he can give it any more thought, she's pinned him up against the wall with surprising strength, her lips hot and fierce against his.

Just like that, he's swept up in a wave of lust, his hands moving to squeeze at her hips and crush her against him. She lets out a soft gasp onto his lips which spurs him on, taking her rear in his hands and spinning them so she's the one flat against the wall. Her hands are gripping his tunic, wrinkling the material, and she backs them up into an alcove in the wall, hiding them from the rest of the world. As her back finds the wall once more, she wraps her leather clad leg around his thigh and he almost moans at the feel of her burning skin from underneath the material where he drags his palm over her leg.

"Regina," he breaths, her answering moan low and washing over his lips in a heavenly exhale. "What–"

"Shh," she silences his question with another languid kiss, tongue filled and stoking the fire in the pit of his stomach, "Don't ask questions."

What does this mean? He was about to ask, but as her arms circle his neck and he pulls the pins from her hair so it tumbles around her shoulders in thick waves, the words die on his lips.

He had been certain she felt nothing for him. She threw daggers at him with her eyes - and once an actual dagger, from across the training room - on a daily basis, her cold and unforgiving remarks like barbs across his skin. It crosses his mind that maybe she still doesn't feel anything, but then her hand runs over the curve of his shoulder and down his spine, her mouth finding his again with dizzying heat and he can tell there is something more than just lust sizzling beneath her veins.

He will keep his mouth shut about feelings, he tells himself, for now at least. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kissed down the column of her neck to her collar bone seems a much better use of his time.